


here's singing a future revolution

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Sort of AU?, Yondu saves himself, learning to people is hard, medic!Kraglin, the complete opposite of a meet-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Kraglin was born to a dead horizon blurred by tangerine smoke, greedy copper towers crawling out of carmine rivers and a future caged by the grace of factory overseers. Except for, every cycle, Nova Corps recruiters come through in eternal search for volunteer fodder to fight the Kree.When Kraglin’s seventeen, he signs the contract.It’s on a battlefield that he meets Yondu.





	1. the cruel war is raging, johnny has to fight

**Author's Note:**

> Because my brain has decided to spend all its time thinking up increasingly more angst-filled ways for Kraglin and Yondu to have met, yaaaayyyyy.... 
> 
> this will eventually have a not-sad ending because I can't write things that end in depressingness.

Everyone knows the only way off planet is in a uniform.

Xala is a world scarred over into a perpetual industrial revolution squeezing product from its dull-eyed population. Kraglin was born to a dead horizon blurred by tangerine smoke, greedy copper towers crawling out of carmine rivers and a future caged by the grace of factory overseers.

Except for, every cycle, Nova Corps recruiters come through in eternal search for volunteer fodder to fight the Kree. 

When Kraglin’s seventeen, he signs the contract. 

So it’s a slow suicide. So it’s dying face down in filthy mud on foreign soil, shrouded in battered blue and body washed by acid rain. It’s still a chance to rise into the stars, if only for a moment, to have a memory of freedom to run reverently over in his mind like fingers over a tattered photograph. 

He’d thought then, with the last remnants of his naivety, that maybe this would be his way out. Maybe the people next to him would be his family now. In some other battalion, some other brigade, maybe that was true but in this one – they weren’t. 

Here on the outlaw edges of Kree space, there was only who would survive and who would die and there wasn’t hardly a body among them that wasn’t willing to use a knife in someone’s back to pull themselves to safety.

That’s the funny thing about war, he’s learned. It’s not that there isn’t bravery, that there isn’t moments where you feel like your body is doing what is was born to do. It’s just for every moment like that there's one of twisting, giddy hysteria deep in your gut when you look down and there’s blood on your knees, blood on your arm, blood on your tongue, and and you can’t remember how it all got there. 

He’s luckier than most, in that some sharp-eyed commander see the steady calm he has about him, something indefinable that makes people listen when he speaks. He's dropped in the medic corps, and learns how to make a tourniquet out of anything, how to find a vein in pitch dark, how to keep his voice steady when he’s got a needle in someone’s skin. 

The red loops of his medic insignia don’t mean much to the Kree though, except as a convenient target, so he’s given a weapon along with his med bag and taught well how to use it. 

 

It’s on a battlefield that Kraglin meets Yondu.

The weight of his kit sets a familiar ache in his bony shoulders as he crouches behind some bit of crumbled building, cracking his neck as he idly aims his blaster across the near-empty field. He can’t remember what this battle’s for, retaliation for some attack on Nova Corps space probably, but he’s standing lookout away from the main skirmish. 

He’s snapped out of his reverie by the kiss of a blaster against his skull, and a gravely whisper of, “Make a sound, corpsman, and I’ll blow your fuckin’ skull off.” 

Kraglin freezes, drops his weapon. After a suspicious beat, the person behind him seems to accept his compliance and grunts out, “Ya got a knife, a good one, in that bag a yers?”

Careful not to move anything except his lips, Kraglin says evenly, “Imma medic, I got a little scalpel.” 

There a moment of surprised silence, and then the blaster is eased back off his head.

“A medic huh? Then yer good with fixin’ people?”

Kraglin jerks his head in a short nod and says shortly, “Very good.” 

A hand pulls on his shoulder to turn him to face his attacker, a stocky, heavily scarred blue man with a faintly glowing chunk of red on his skull. Not Kree then, Kraglin thinks, probably one of their battle slaves. 

“I need ya to get a tracker outta m’back,” Blue says, keeping the blaster aimed at him while he thrusts his other side in Kraglin’s direction. “Get it out an’ I’ll let ya live.” 

Snorting a little at that, Kraglin rolls his eyes even as he starts fumbling in his kit for the tools he’ll need. 

“Sure ya will, pal,” he says. “You’re lucky I figure I’ll die either way, might as well go out fuckin’ over some Kree bastard by getting ya free.” 

Blue purses his lips and doesn’t say anything as Kraglin probes the general area until he feels the bump of the tracker, then grabs a packet of n umbing disinfectant to rub over the general area.

Ripping open the packaging of a little surgical blade and a pair of tongs from his front pocket, he pulls the blue skin taunt as he makes a careful incision and then delicately lifts the tracker out. 

He goes to set it down, when Blue shakes his head and reaches for it. 

“Gotta keep it fer now, I get more than an arm away and it goes off,” he says, eying the tracker like it’s about to sink fangs into him. He stares pensively at Kraglin for a minute, then says, “Tell ya what, yer gonna come with me and help me find a safe way offa this rock.”

Kraglin blinks. So not dying right away then, he supposes. 

“Fine,” he says. “There’s M-ships back that way, if we’re careful, we can prolly get off planet in one.”

“Fine,” Blue agrees, and goes to stand before Kraglin puts out a hand to stop him.

“Wait, let me put a wound patch on first.”

“Fer a cut like this?” Blue asks incredulous. Kraglin scowls up at him and doesn’t move.

“Right, make it quick then,” Blue says grouchily, and as soon as Kraglin’s done he’s jerking him to his feet and prodding him forward with the blaster.

“Keep shtum, and I won’t shoot,” he says, and Kraglin leads him back towards base camp, wondering tiredly what he’s got himself into.

 


	2. won't stop to surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those only a few lone sentries sprinkled around the edges of the landing area, guarding the battered cluster of M-ships. Kraglin’s able to easily find them a hole in the perimeter to slink through, has them into a battered grey and red ship before anyone’s wise to their presence.

Those only a few lone sentries sprinkled around the edges of the landing area, guarding the battered cluster of M-ships. Kraglin’s able to easily find them a hole in the perimeter to slink through, has them into a battered grey and red ship before anyone’s wise to their presence. 

After slumping into one of the bridge seats, he looks to his captor to see what the next move is. Now the initial adrenaline’s out of his system, he’s not really even fussed anymore about his impromptu kidnapping.  It’s not like he’s attached anymore to being a corpsman, eking out his days in an dull blur of blood and monotony.If nothing else this will at least prove to be entertaining before he ends up as a vaporized puff of space dust. 

When Blue just stands there awkwardly, looking at the console like it’s gonna reach out and fang him, Kraglin snorts incredulously.

“Yer serious? Ya don’t even know how ta fly one a these do ya?” he asks. “How exactly were ya planning to escape in one all on yer lonesome?” 

Blue puffs himself like Kraglins ruffled all his feather the wrong direction and says sulkily, “I _could_ fly one of these if I wanted ta.” 

He shuffles his feet a little further apart and pokes the blaster sullenly in Kraglin’s general direction. 

“Mebbe I just want you ta do it for me.”

“Uh huh, right,” Kraglin says, as he moves to resettle himself in the pilots chair and initiate the start up sequence. “Ya know as soon as we start to take off we’re gonna have guards on our trail.”

“So ya better be a good pilot,” Blue says stubbornly, and settles across from him in the gunner’s seat, legs spread wide and hand white-knuckling the armrests. 

Kraglin rolls his eyes, and with a last deep breath to brace himself, brings the ship off the ground. Out the window he can see the guard start milling about confusedly as they try and check whether the ship’s got the permissions to be taking off. 

Before they can get their shit together, Kraglin’s pulling back and shooting them towards the atmosphere. With the other hand, he opens up the general comm channel. He doubts they’re gonna have much chance of getting away against the carrier ship above them, but might as well keep an ear on the chatter in case there’s something useful.

“Hey Blue,” he says, not taking his eyes off the glass in front of him. “D’ya know how ta look up the nearest jump point?” 

“M’names not blue, ya pink asshole,” Blue shoots back at him. “M’name’s Yondu.”

“Fine, _Yondu_ , it’s that orange button there, push that and click the icon in the left corner that says locate,” Kraglin grits out tersely. They’re breaking into open space and he can see the carrier start to loom up ahead. He can hear the carrier’s captain shoutingbelligerently at the bevy of M-ships behind them, ordering them to fire on whomever has managed to scarper off with their equipment. 

“Here,” Yondu jabs at the screen, scraggly eyebrows pulled into a fierce scowl as he gnaws absently at his lip with one yellow tooth. “This looks close.” 

Kraglin glances over and nods.

“Yeah, seven clicks? Prolly make that one before we get blown to smithereens.” 

He presses on the accelerator, tries to block out the flock of M-ships rising up behind them. He stomach clenches as his pulse starts thump in his ears, nerves ratcheting higher as his vision tunnels, and he leans forward willing them to make the jump in time as he starts to see streaks of blaster fire coming from behind them.

The ship judders once, twice, as it’s hit and they’re almost there, almost through, everything straining forward as he swerves the next bolt and shoots shakily through the jump window. 

As it closes behind them Kraglin relaxes on the controls, slows them down, head going all fizzy and light as he realizes he’s done it. He’s deserted, with a escaped Kree slave in tow. It doesn’t really matter he’d been at blaster point. In the Corps view, he shoulda died for his duty and he didn’t, he'd to do chose this. 

Melting back against the seat, he lets his head tilt towards Yondu. 

“Ya know where you wanna go now?” 

“First things, Imma throw this fuckin’ bomb out the back,” Yondu says as he pulls it from his pocket, gently fingers it in one hand. “An’ then… I wanna git as far from here as possible, somewhere I won’t stand out.” 

“… Kay,” Kraglin says slowly. “Thas not so pr'cise, maybe ya have a few more specification than that?” 

Yondu hutches forward, resting on his knees as he stares pensively out the window. 

“I wanna something ta eat. Somethin’ good, not space ration junk,” he says, ignoring Kraglin’s stare.  “An’ I want ya to teach me to fly.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love!


	3. here's my rifle, here's my gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Yondu,” he calls back to where the grumpy blue menace fiddling around aft bridge. “I found a space port, ’s called Knowhere an’ it looks like it’s just the right kind of disreputable.” 
> 
> “There a reason yer just hovering around then?” Yondu shoots back, not even bothering to look up from the wires he’s weaving together. 
> 
> Kraglin huffs, and turns back to the console. 
> 
> Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is turning out a lot longer than anticipated, darn runaway fic

After dumping the bomb out the back over an uninhabited area, Kraglin searches the nav bank for a port outside of Nova controlled space. There’s not a lot of options in this sector, but there’s one he’s vaguely familiar with by reputation. 

“Hey Yondu,” he calls back to where the grumpy blue menace fiddling around aft bridge. “I found a space port, ’s called Knowhere an’ it looks like it’s just the right kind of disreputable.” 

“There a reason yer just hovering around then?” Yondu shoots back, not even bothering to look up from the wires he’s weaving together. 

Kraglin huffs, and turns back to the console. 

Dick.

He grumpily punches in the coordinates, and aims for the first jump point. 

 

After tucking the ship into an out of the way spot near the closest thing to a market district Knowhere has, Kraglin shucks his Nova Corps jacket for his black undershirt. He shivers as the cold draft makes his hair stand on end, but grimly ignores it as he uses the edge of a knife to rough up his pants. 

Putting in a last few strategic tears, he straightens up to see Yondu eying him strangely.

“What? Yer gonna need to figure out something ta throw over that get up you got on,” Kraglin says. “Escaping ain’t gonna do us any good if they can pick us out fer what we are the moment we step foot off ship.”

Giving him a nonplussed look, Yondu doesn’t move.

“As in, ya should probably ditch that nicely festooned leather vest thing yer wearing,” Kraglin jabs at his chest, ignoring the warning snarl. “I’ll see if I c’n find ya something or you’ll have ta go without.” 

Unfortunately, these ships hadn’t been outfitted for anything more than transport so as they leave the ship Kraglin’s flanked by a grumbling, half-naked blue man. 

He dithers about whether to pick up some new threads first, but his growling stomach leads him instead to one of the cheap meat stands that pepper the market for a bite to eat. 

He orders two and steps back to see Yondu watching in poorly hidden fascination as bits of dripping golden meat are sliced off the rotating chunk and slapped on faintly steaming flatbread, topped with a heap of well-pickled vegetables and drizzled with chunks of sweet-salty nut sauce. 

Savoring a moment his first bite, Kraglin looks up to see Yondu, eyes nearly rolling back in his head with pleasure as he eats. Kraglin’s been living on corps rations long enough to appreciate the treat of something fresh, but it’s nothing compared to what Yondu's getting out of it. Practically pornographic, the sounds he’s making. Kraglin rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little warmer than he did a minute ago, but shakes it off to poke at Yondu with a bony elbow. 

“So’s good, yeah, live up to yer specifications?” 

“Shaddup,” Yondu moans out around a mouthful, treating Kraglin to a delightful view of half-masticated food. “Don’t need yer lip.” 

 

While they finish eating, Kraglin leads them in a meander around the market stalls. He’s eying up some pretty knives when he feels Yondu go stiff as a metal sheet beside him.

Kraglin stiffens too, hand going for his blaster as he scans the crowd for the threat.

‘What is it?” he hisses. 

“Naw it’s not  – wait I need ta,” Yondu starts weaving frantically through the crowd, something drawing him in like a homing beacon. Kraglin follows, baffled, but relaxing a little once he realizes there isn’t an immediate threat of death or dismemberment. 

Finally Yondu stops a few feet in front of a closed stall, tucked back into a corner and nearly melting into the wall behind it. 

“There, I need ta get in there,” Yondu says, voice low and dark. He doesn’t stop for Kraglin, ducks around the side and starts prying purposefully at a crack in the side plating. 

“Hey, wait, someone’s gonna see ya,” Kraglin says, tugging at his shoulder as his gaze darts around frantically. 

“Don’t care, need in there,” Yondu shrugs him off, managing to pry the cheap siding away enough to wiggle an arm through. Now he’s got some leverage, it isn’t a moment before he’s got the whole panel off and he’s slipping into the stall. 

Kraglin grits his teeth and follows. Some part of him wants to just disappear, leave his strange fellow escapee to his quirks, but there’s something about him, something that holds Kraglin there. 

As his eyes adjust to the dark of the stall, he sees Yondu banging at a metal box he’s pulled out from under the counter. When the banging does nothing, he growls and pulls out his blaster. 

“Wait, wait,” Kraglin says frantically. “Here, I c’n probably pick it gimme a sec.” 

The lock’s rudimentary, and he’s able to open it after a few seconds. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he lifts the lid, but it’s definitely not what’s actually there - a softly glowing chunk of red ore. 

“ ’S yaka,” Yondu says reverently as he scoops it out, cradling it gently in his hands. “Here of all places.” 

“I mean,” Kraglin’s scraggly eyebrows bunch together, “if yer lookin’ fer something it’s probably on Knowhere, or someone here knows how ta get it. It’s the biggest smug–“

His words choke off as he feels the cold muzzle of yet another blaster at his scalp.

He stifles a grumble because, really. Twice in less than a day when he’s not expecting it has to be a record or something.

“Now, I think what we have here is someone honing in on our job accidental-like,” a gravely voice says genially. “I think that we can resolve this peacefully, just hand it over, son.”

Yondu snarls, clutching the chunk to his chest and drawing his blaster fluidly with the other. 

“ ’S mine, ya fucking bastard, ain’t gonna take it from me.”

Kraglin closes his eyes, and silently calls Yondu all the filthy names he knows.

“See, someone’s paying me a pretty penny to get that hunk of rock for ‘em,” the voice continues, a little harder. “An’ I don’t renege on jobs.”

“Dunno what renege means,” Yondu says mutinously. “But this is mine, I had it first and yer prying it out of my cold dead hands, asshole.” 

There’s a surprised silence as Kraglin closes his eye. Blue bastard, doesn’t have the sense the universe gave an Orloni. 

“Don’t ya know who I am, boy?” the voice says, dipping low and cold. “Ya better think twice ‘bout what yer saying.” 

“Don’t know who ya are, and don’t care,” Yondu says, cocking the blaster with cold fire in his eyes. “But’ll be dead and in the ground before I give this up again.” 


	4. let us begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin stews silently, ignoring the way the metal struts of the cell wall are tattooing dents into his back. He can feel the heat of Yondu’s glare on him, but he refuses to change his gaze from where he’s cataloguing the colorful sploches on the wall across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stakar motherfuckin' Ogord, people.

Kraglin stews silently, ignoring the way the metal struts of the cell wall are tattooing dents into his back. He can feel the heat of Yondu’s glare on him, but refuses to change his gaze from where he’s cataloguing the colorful splotches on the wall across. 

“Krags,” Yondu, clearly bored after the hours of sitting aimlessly, pokes him in the shoulder. After a pause, he does it again. 

“Krags. Krags. Krags. Krags. Krags. Kra–“ and with that Kraglin jerks around to punch the big blue asshole in the shoulder. 

“What the flarkin’ hell was that earlier, ya idiot, don’t ya know who that was? Ravagers are the biggest and baddest of space outlaws and ya just pissed off t’lead one.” 

He rubs his forehead, as he helplessly replays their inexplicable escape from death.

 

_As Kraglin squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for their grisly demise the voice behind him promises to give, he’s startled instead by the feeling of the blaster easing off his skull as the man chuckles, deep and gruff like it’s pulled up from his belly._

_“Well then,” he says, seeming immensely pleased about fuck knows what. “You got a scrote on ya boy, I’ll give ya that.”_

_There’s a pause, and then the voice continues cheerfully. “Tell ya what, these fine folks are gonna have ya escorted back to my ship, and you c’n tell me all about yerselves there.”_

_The heavy tenor makes it clear, this order isn’t something he’s gonna give on. Kraglin widens his eyes at Yondu as he tries to impart to him telepathically how very much he does not want to die in this crappy little shop. After all, they’ve escaped once – who’s to say they can’t do it again?_

_Yondu gives a terse nod, and pushes himself to his feet. After a second, Kraglin follows turning around to finally get a good look at the man behind him. He immediately stumbles back a wary few steps, white-knuckling the strap to his bag as he resists the urge to dash wildly out the door. He may not be the most well traveled of corpsman, but he knows what that flame means._

_“Yer Ravagers,” he says hoarsely. He’s surprised they’re not already decorating the floor._

_“Stakar Ogord,” their leader says cheerfully. “Admiral of the Ravager fleet, pleased ta meet ya ’n all that.”_

_Kraglin blanches, while Yondu’s gaze darts back and forth between him and the Ravagers, not sure what’s going on and not happy about it. Before he can say anything though, they’re herded out the shop._

 

Yondu grins unrepentantly and refuses to answer. He’s still holding on to his chunk of rock for dear life, and Kraglin hasn’t a clue why he hasn’t been forcibly relieved of it yet.

“Yer lucky ya didn’t get us both killed,” he spits out, shoving a little at Yondu’s shoulders. The contact snaps Yondu out of his joviality and his face goes impassive as he draws up all the way, then up on his boots when he realizes Kraglin’s still got several inches on him. 

“Back the hell off, I don’t owe ya anything,” he growls, eyes narrow as he leans in to stare Kraglin down. There’s something imperious in his eyes, something unyielding, and it makes Kraglin retreat, turning his back to the wall again.

“Just… tell me what the hell’s so important about that thing,” he says, slumping to sit in a pile of gangly limbs on the floor. 

Hesitantly, Yondu lowers himself alongside, knees sprawling as settles the rock between them.

Kraglin turns to look at him for an answer, and his eyes widen as he see Yondu rubbing absently at the dribs of blue blood staining his palms. 

“Aw, shit, yer hands,” he says reaching for them, then holding his own up placatingly with Yondu jerks away. “What’d’ya do ta them, cut ‘em up on that stupid rock?”

“ ’S not stupid,” Yondu says sullenly. “An’ they took yer bag, what’re you gonna do about it anyways?”

Kraglin opens his mouth, then snaps it quickly closed as the cell door slides open to reveal Stakar, hands hooked casually in his belt loops. Yondu snatches up the yaka again, scrambling to his feet with Kraglin a second behind him. Stakar grins, and leans against the doorway

“So, I’ve discussed this all with m’first mate, and she likes yer nerve, talked me inta thinking about giving you a chance,” he says, casual as if he’s giving them choices for chow. “Convince me yer worth giving up the pretty red number there.”

Kraglin bites his lip, but relaxes a little. He knows there isn’t a spacer out there willing to turn down the help of someone good at fixing them up after they inevitably starting bleeding out of somewhere.

“You could take us on as crew, sir, Imma medic, a good one, working my way to being a doc” he offers, trying his best to radiate 'competent'. “I can work in yer med bay, an’ handle a weapon in combat out on jobs if I need ta.” 

Stakar’s eyebrows go up. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, then turns to look at Yondu. “An’ you?” 

Yondu doesn’t answer for a moment, then says grudgingly after Kraglin elbows him in the side, “I c’n fire any weapon ya give me, ’n I’m good at liberatin’ things I want, if ya must know.”

“If ya must know Captain or sir, ta you,” Stakar says. “Welcome to the Ravagers.” 

 

Their bunks are simple, but surprisingly comfortable for what they are, and their meager possessions are sprawled across the top. Kraglin tugs Yondu to sit next to him, before pulling his bag over to rummage for more ointment and cloth bandages. 

Yondu’s face has gone all stoic again when he started touching him and he doesn’t seem to know what to do as Kraglin gently takes his hands, rubs ointment into all the little cuts.

Yondu swallow, shifts a little on the bed, but doesn’t pull his hands away. He swallows again dryly then says, voice low, “I… I don’t understand you, ya know. Yer mighty kind ta someone who held ya at blaster point an’ got ya stuck here.”

Kraglin bites his lip, doesn’t answer. He’s slowly wrapping thin strips of bandage around Yondu’s hands, cradling each one gently as he lines up the adhesive edges soYondu will still have full range of motion. 

As he secure the last one, he doesn’t let go for a moment, staring down at blue fingers. His head feels light, fizzy, punch drunk from lack of sleep and adrenaline crash and everything in front of him starts to split waveringly in two the longer he stares at it.

Pulling himself out of it with a little shake, he lets go and crawls into his bunk, nudging Yondu off with one knee.

“Night,” he says and he lets exhaustion pull his eyelids closed. He’s almost asleep before he hears the quiet answering

“Night, Krags.”


	5. combat baby, come back baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, yer a medic are ya boy? I’m Doc Darvus, pleased ta meetcha.”
> 
> Kraglin resists the urge to stand at attention as he’s shoved before the ship’s doctor, a skinny fox-faced Xandarian who’s full of wiry energy in the sort of way that suggests he’d enjoy slinking around and popping up behind you when you’d least expect it. There’s this weird twinkle in his eyes that’s puts Kraglin off a little, but he dutifully sticks a hand out to shake.
> 
> “Yessir, ‘m Kraglin Obfonteri.”

“So, yer a medic are ya boy? I’m Doc Darvus, pleased ta meetcha.”

Kraglin resists the urge to stand at attention as he’s shoved before the ship’s doctor, a skinny fox-faced Xandarian who’s full of wiry energy in the sort of way that suggests he’d enjoy slinking around and popping up behind you when you’d least expect it. There’s this weird twinkle in his eyes that’s puts Kraglin off a little, but he dutifully sticks a hand out to shake.

“Yessir, ‘m Kraglin Obfonteri.”

Darvus grabs it between two slim, cold hands, giving it a short little shake and then a lingering squeeze. 

“Well, Kraglin Obfonteri,” he grins, and gestures behind him, “let’s see whatcha know.” 

After a tour, which reveals a med bay that's surprisingly decent for being cobbled together from stolen tech by a bunch of space pirates, and a strangely cursory quiz about his training, Kraglin’s let loose and told to help screen anyone that reports in. 

His only companion seems to be a dull-eyed Krylorian with a loose bun and grimy muscle shirt, who’s sitting at the med bay desk and thumbing rotely through the holofeed on their pad. Kraglin sidles over awkwardly, and gingerly sits himself in the adjoining chair. When they don’t look up, keep tapping blankly at their pad, Kraglin clears his throat.

“Erm… so you’re a Ravager then?” he says weakly, then wants to kick himself. Are they a Ravager, really. The Krylorian seems to have the same opinion as they drag their eyes away from the holo, look him up and down slowly like they’re wondering how so much stupid can fit in such a skinny frame. 

“No…” they drawl. “I’m really a royal from Xandar, my father’s keeping me here until I get ransomed. Help. Help me –“ 

“Yeah, I know, stupid question,” Kraglin cuts them off, blushing. “Yesterday I was fixin’ up corpsmen, now Imma criminal an’ it’s all still a bit of a shock, yeah?” 

They hike one eyebrow up, leaning back in the chair and letting their legs sprawl lazily. 

“Corpsman, huh? Coulda peg ya fer that in a sec, you got that goody-goody look.”

Kraglin’s miffed at the implication, draws up every inch of his gangly frame and glares at them. He may be former corps, but that doesn’t mean he’s a weakling.

“Aw, don’t go gettin’ yer feelings hurt or nothin’, ain’t mean no thang by it, doll,” they drawl. “Call me Patch, an’ I’ll call ya nub, least til ya earn yer flame.”

Kraglin squints his eyes.

“What the fuck’s a nub?” 

“You, rookie - nub, non-useful body,” they say cheerfully. “Now how ‘bout ya hold things down while I go get chow, yeah?” 

And with that they’re pushing up dramatically, stopping for a minute to grin at Kraglin like they’re posing for a beauty shot, and then they’re swaying out of the med bay. 

 

It’s been at least an hour, and after checking the supplies best he could figure, Kraglin’s reduced to idly spinning in circle in his chair. Somehow he thought a Ravager ship would see more action, but he supposes just like everyone they have their slow periods. His contemplation is broken when he sees the med bay door swish open, and a smug-faced Yondu waltz in sporting at least one shiny new gold piercing in his ear. He’s wearing his new leather jacket and pants, but seems to have decided to continue going sans shirt. 

“ ‘Lo, Krags,” he says, planting elbows to lean over and give Kraglin a wide-mouthed grin and a face full of halitosis. “Miss me?” 

“No I didn’t miss you, ya loon,” Kraglin says grumpily. “Don’t tell me you got injured already.” 

“Fraid I can’t do that,” Yondu looks completely unrepentant, “had a lil misunderstanding with one of the other gunners, see, he saw hisself as the best fighter there and I just couldn't let him labor under that misapprehension.” 

Kraglin resists the urge to thunk his head down on the desk. 

“Do I want to know?” 

“He had a lil accident with my knife,” Yondu widens his eyes innocently.

“An accident,” Kraglin says flatly

“He accidentally ran into my knife,” Yondu’s face is the picture of smug, “accidentally ran into it a couple times in fact.”

This time Kraglin does let his head thunk down on the desk. Not even one day, and Yondu’s already causing trouble, he should have seen this coming a klick away. 

“See though, his buddies didn’t quite get it was an accident, mighta slipped me a knife back when I weren’t lookin’.” 

Yondu pulls the side of his jacket up to reveal a shallowly oozing cut just below his ribs. Kraglin hisses and makes for the supply cabinet, stopping to grab an unprotesting Yondu and pull him along with. 

“Sit,” he says, shoving Yondu firmly onto to sit on a stretcher. “An’ take that jacket off.”

Huffily pulling the supplies he needs, he kneels down, carefully dabbing blood off with wet gauze, peering closer to see if the wound needed stitches. 

Yondu stops with that ridiculously charming grin the minute Kraglin starts touching him, goes still as a rock. Kraglin ignores him, and deciding the cut will be good with a couple wound closure strips, he delicately wipes across it with a disinfectant pad before applying the strips and sticking a loose bandage over top it all. 

“Now, ya try and keep it clean, hear?” Kraglin looks up, scraggly eyebrows pulled sternly together. “The last thing ya need is a goddamn infection near yer guts.” 

Yondu just looks at him still-faced for a second, then shakes himself out of it and pushes to his feet. 

“Yup, don’t go taking any mud baths anytime soon, roger that,” he says, swaggering towards the door. “See ya, Kraggles.”

“ It’s Kraglin, not Kraggles,” he calls out at Yondu’s retreating back. 

“Not Kraggles, not Krags, not whatever other stupid nickname you’ve thought up in that idiot brain of yers,” he mumbles to himself as the door swooshes closed. 

Just because it’s the first time someone’s given him a nickname that wasn’t ‘doc’ or some mangled obscenity, he sternly reminds himself, doesn’t mean nothing – it’s just the way Yondu is, it doesn't mean nothing at all. 


	6. this is it boys, this is war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that Doctor Darvis has done anything that Kraglin can put his finger on, one single moment he can pin down and recount later. There’s just something a little off, in the way he talks to Kraglin, something that makes him feel like he’s back in the corps being bossed around by a sneering officer, makes him feel like… a thing.

It’s not that Doctor Darvis has done anything that Kraglin can put his finger on, one single moment he can pin down and recount later. There’s just something a little off in the way he talks to Kraglin, something that makes him feel like he’s back in the corps being bossed around by a sneering officer or a game piece to be moved around a board. 

None of the other medics seem to be much bothered by it though, so Kraglin keeps shtum.There’s maybe four or five of them total that rotate shifts in the med bay, but Kraglin’s only really seen Patch, the other day-shifter – since embarrassing himself the first day though, he hasn’t really had much more conversation with them besides the occasional work related exchange. 

He wishes he could though. The Ravagers haven’t pulled any kind of big jobs since he’s been on board, and although Yondu’s wheedled his way in for various cuts and bruises, Kraglin’s not had much chance to mingle with the crew. He’s not the most sociable of people, but there’s only so many nights of staring at the wall or watching cheesy dramas on his holopad before he starts getting antsy. 

He’s gotten used to the regular thrill of adrenaline spidering up his spine, the rush of moments suspended in absolute purpose, and some curled, feral thing in him craves it. Each day crawling by brings nothing but exacerbation, so when he hears the cry of, “Doc, _Doc,_ ’s an emergency, help!” he’s on his feet and racing toward it.

Just outside the med bay doors is a man that looks Xandarian, sucking in wheezing breaths, covered in blotchy hives and clutching his throat as he’s supported by a panicking crew mate. Letting instinct take over he’s sliding an arm under the man’s shoulder, half-dragging him in and onto a stretcher. 

Thankful he took the time to memorize the exact location of the supplies, he pulls an oxygen maskon the patients face, snapping leads on to get his vitals, grabbing an IV kit. The commotion and yelling has pulled Doc Darvis from the depths of his office and seeing him out of the corner of his eye Kraglin’s jerking his head to beckon him closer as he anchors the skin just below the catheter-covered needle.

“Sir, we have a patient that’s presenting with hives, wheezing and his oxygen stats are dropping, think he’s in anaphylactic shock,” Kraglin punches out as he attaches the fluid line to the IV port, “should I give him adrenaline?” 

The whites of the doctor’s eyes are showing, and for someone who’s supposed to be the lead doc for a band of blood-thirsty Ravagers he’s strangely jittery.

“Certainly yes, that, precisely” Darvis says fitfully, skittering his way over to the medication locker. He pulls out something not looking a bit like the auto-injectors Kraglin’s used to, but he backs off, lets the doc get to the bedside. His eyes widen in alarm though when he see the doc grab the IV port and start to screw the syringe on.

“Sir, wait, that should go in his thigh, what’re’ya - “ 

He’s cut off by the doctor’s snort of shaky bravado.

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing kid, I’m the one with a license here.” 

Kraglin narrows his eyes, starts forward but the doctor uses the hand not advancing the medication to smack him back, and then it’s too late. The medication’s in the patient’s IV and Kraglin watches frozen for a beat as the patient clutches at his chest, knowing with a dose like that flowing straight into his bloodstream it’s only moments before the patient hits cardiac arrest. 

 

Hours later, they’ve finally managed to stabilize the crewman, but it’d been a close thing. Darvis had dismissed him with barely a word, and Kraglin feels hollow, wild, his skin itching like a thousand tiny Orloni feet are racing across it. 

He’s stumbling down the passageway when he runs smacks into another body. It’s Yondu, one eye bruised shut as the other stretches into a cheerful smirk.

“Where ya going in such a hurry, Krags?” he says. “You off already, I needed ta get some cream for this shiner I got –“

“Well go get someone else ta fix it, I’m not yer flarkin’ personal medic,” Kraglin snaps, surprising himself a little, but even though he wants to take it back, _apologize_ , he can feel the words slipping like grease through his grip. 

Yondu’s shoulders hunch jerkily forward for a second, looking a little like Kraglin’s given him a fist to the gut to match the one he took to the face, before his eyes narrow, lips pinching in a scowl as he draws himself up.

“What the hell’s gotten in to ya,” he growls. Kraglin chokes a little trying to hold back the hissing animal growl that pushes against his teeth, feeling like an ungrounded wire, electric and wild.

He knows it’s nothing like how Yondu’severseen him before, feels the control breaking in him as he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

When Kraglin doesn’t say anything Yondu slips in closer, pausing a beat to make sure it’s not setting him off more.Reaching a hand up to the side of Kraglin’s face, he grips, digging his fingers in and giving him a little shake.

“Snap outta it, ya hear? Listen ta me, snap outta it.”

As soon as Yondu touches him something in Kraglin whimpers, stills, and before he can stop himself he tilts his head an inch to the side, into Yondu’s hand with a whine that’s all but inaudible. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Yondu says firmly, rising up on his toes a little to stare Kraglin straight in the eyes and feeling the heat of his familiar body, the body’s he’s bandaged and wrapped and healed, Kraglin slumps, and gulps in a shivery breath.

Yondu holds him there for a minute, until the trembles start to ease before letting go of him with a last firm squeeze and jerking his head towards the opposite end of the passageway. 

“Right,” he says gruffly. “‘Ya got bruise cream back at yer quarters, don’chu? Don’t trust t’other medics ta do it right.” 

Kraglin lets out a shaky chuckle and follows Yondu down the corridor and over to his bunk to pull out his med bag. He’s calming, coming back to himself with each supply he lays out, methodically going through it to find a painkiller strip and snap open an instant cold pack.

As Yondu grudgingly sucks on the pain strip, Kraglin holds the pack gently to his eye, watching idly as he goes as still as he does every time Kraglin touches him. He feels like he’s floating, not really there, tethered only to Yondu.He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break this moment, but he bites his lip and makes himself reach down to drop the cold pack in Yondu’s hand. 

Licking dry lips he swallows, and pulls his words back to him.

“Hold it over yer eye ‘bout 15 minutes at a time, yeah? I’d give ya more of the painkillers, but considering you would barely take em for a flarkin’ stab wound I won’t bother.” 

Yondu watches him intently for a beat, then gives him a little crooked grin and pushes himself up off the bed. 

“Will do,” he says. “Now ‘s time for all good little medics ta go t’sleep.” 

Kraglin reflexively bristles at being called a ‘good little’ anything, but Yondu quirks an eyebrow at him and he feels his mouth snapping shut, still grumbling a little in his head as he watches Yondu leave. 

The feral defensiveness is gone though and as he flops onto his bunk, curling loosely around the pillow, he can’t help but cradle a small glow of warmth at the memory of Yondu’s rough, warm hand cupping his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gave me such _headaches_ , hats off to Choices_We_Make for helping to finagle the plot around, and all the love to my ever-best beta Resri for making it readable and getting me to where I could finally post it <3


	7. sorcerer of death's construction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this was the Nova Corps, he’d know what to do - or rather, he’d hug resentful resignation, knowing there was nothing he could do, knowing that officers from Xandar would always be protected by the golden cloud of their status, do what he could and move on.

If this was the Nova Corps, he’d know what to do - or rather, he’d hug resentful resignation, knowing there was nothing he could do, knowing that officers from Xandar would always be protected by the golden cloud of their status, do what he could and move on. 

He talks to Patch the next day, tries to hint around and they think will happen. He’s not surprised by their fatalistic shrug. 

“Please, you think this is the first time that the doc’s pulled this kind of shit? I mentioned it a few times to the bosun, but we’re still dealing with him, ain’t we?” 

Kraglin bites his lip, looks down. 

“That’s a rookie mistake though, Patch, that person coulda died an’ I had to just sit there and watch it.” 

Patch twists their lip, sighs and reaches across the desk to clap him on the shoulder.

“That’s the way it’s always been nub, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be.” 

He accepts it, doesn’t argue. Somehow he’d hoped here would be different. 

 

Doctor Darvis corners him that night just before Kraglin’s getting ready to go off shift, his bright eyes bouncing almost feverish. 

“I’m going to have to write you up,” he’s wringing his hands over and over, weaving his fingers together twisting, releasing, weaving them together again. “An error like the one yesterday is simply unacceptable.”

Kraglin can feel something dropping down his throat, settling low and painful in his stomach. He can feel words clamoring over each other in his brain and he breathes, waits, say, “I dunno what ya mean, sir.” 

“Why giving that patient the wrong medication, clearly you don’t have the training you think you do to make such a crucial and basic mistake.” 

Darvis is twisting and wringing his hands faster and faster, leaning forward a little into Kraglin, and Kraglin clasps his own hands in front of him, digs his nails into his wrist. 

“I didn’t give the patient medication, the machine’ll show I didn’t pull that out.” 

Darvis makes a high pitched nasal giggle, the sort of sound that wasn’t really amused at all. “No one of my caliber of training could possibly have made that sort of mistake, who would possibly believe some rookie Nova trained medic over the lead physician for Stakar Ogord himself.” 

Kraglin’s counting his breaths now, pulling them in through tight lips as he clamps down hard and everything his body wants to do. He doesn’t want to believe what Darvis is saying but he does, he knows it’s true. Those in power will always climb on the backs of those beneath them, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s those breaking the law or those making them. His hands claw into each other with the powerlessness of it.

“In fact…” the doctor eyes him, manic gleam calming a little. “It might be better if the guilt of it all made you leave, I would understand of course, it’s a hard thing for anyone to deal with. Plus who knows what someone like Captain Ogord would do to the person he so generously welcomed aboard that betrayed his trust…” he trails off, staring a Kraglin like he can make him leave by will alone.

Kraglin knows what happens to people who need to be made examples of, the expendables. He can’t do that, can’t be that person. 

All the nervous energy comes rushing back, dancing down his skin in a whirling frenzy and he’s backing up, backing out of the med bay.

Then Kraglin’s running, running down the passageway, fighting the urge to tear something, anything apart. The increasingly faint rational part of his mind is pushing him to get to the hanger bay, to get away, and got himself nearly there when he sees Yondu, lounging near the hanger bay door. How that man seems to always turn up where Kraglin is, he has no idea. 

“Move,” he’s all but snarling, almost lisping a little around his mouthful of teeth. Yondu seems less caught off guard this time, is puffing up again and staring him down until he feels something in him curling up and and backing down. 

“Please,” Kraglin adds, quieter this time. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be here, I need to get off this ship.” 

“Fuck that, tell me what kinda trouble you got herself into,” Yondu’s all up in his personal space again, reaching to grab the space where Kraglin’s skinny neck meets his shoulder and pinch hard. 

Kraglin shakes his head wordlessly, feints a little forward before Yondu squeezes harder. 

“I said, _tell me what’s goin’ on,_ ” Yondu won’t let him look away, “this is somethin’ ta do with why you were so het up t’other night, ain’t it?” 

“Please.” 

Kraglin’s hates the way the word comes out all begging, but his vision’s starting to wash red and he needs to be gone, needs to fight but he can’t so he needs to run. 

Yondu seems to get that he isn’t going to get anything out of Kraglin like this, so he starts pulling him towards the hanger bay.

“Tell ya what, how about we go for a little jaunt, you c’n tell me what’s going on and if there’s some kinda pressing need we’ll already be out there, right? An’ if this is something I can solve m’self, we’ll come back.” 

Kraglin knows he should be asking if that’s allowed, if Yondu’s going to get in trouble but the larger part of him just doesn’t care, doesn’t have anything left to fight him. 

Yondu drags him to one of the M-ships tucked closest to the hanger bay doors. It’s a demure dark and silver, the remains of dents sanded and painted over, and Yondu’s saunters right up to thumb the bioaccess panel. 

“Ay!”

A sharp voice cuts across the room, freezing them in their tracks. Kraglin turns to see a woman, eyes cutting like black glass, covered in well-worn leathers that are washed verdant, not blue. She stalks closer, lazy confidence in every step as she says, “There a reason you boys’re trying to board my ship?” 


	8. they said you would never give up easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She takes them to Stakar, brings them before him and all but drops them at his feet. Kraglin remembers how it felt to be afraid of Stakar, but here in this moment, with Yondu at his side and fire in his blood he’s not afraid of anything at all. 
> 
> Stakar’s looking at them wearily, little bits of light popping and sparking erratically in his wings as Aleta finishes her explanation.  
> “You boys gotta reason for trying to steal a ship and take off?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go, almost there!! Thanks to my ever best beta Resri <3 xxx

She takes them to Stakar, brings them before him and all but drops them at his feet. Kraglin remembers how it felt to be afraid of Stakar, but here in this moment, with Yondu at his side and fire in his blood he’s not afraid of anything at all. 

Stakar’s looking at them wearily, little bits of light popping and sparking erratically in his wings as Aleta finishes her explanation.

“You boys gotta reason for trying to steal a ship and take off?” 

He says it like this is something not entirely surprising to him, although is throwing bemused looks at Yondu out of the corner of his eye. Kraglin suspects it has something to do with whatever he’s been up to that’s been landing him in the med bay with all those bruises and cuts lately, figures that if Yondu’d been planning to take off they’d either be non-existent from floating under the radar or a whole hell of a lot worse. 

Yondu glares up at Stakar, bounces a little on his toes and says with only a titchmore respect than he’d had the first time he’d spoken to him, “Wasn’t stealing nothing, sir, just told Obfonteri here I’d show him the stars, give him a chance to get outta the med bay.”

Stakar looks like its taking every inch of his will to resist the urge to pinch his nose and let his head thunk down onto the desk. Kraglin gets a feeling that if he sticks around with Yondu, that’s the face a lot of people are going to be making around him. 

“So you decided that the best way to go about this,” Stakar keeps his tone flatly even, “was not ask, but to saunter right into the M-ship bay, and try to break into and spirit away whichever ship took your fancy.”

Yondu looks remarkably unbothered by this assessment of the situation. 

“Didn’t feel it were worth botherin’ the quartermaster about.”

Stakar eyes him, then continues like he hadn’t just been rudely interrupted, “and the ship that took your fancy, wasn’t just any average crew member’s ship, you decide that the best ship for this situation was clearly the one that belongs to Aleta, my lovely wife and captain of one of our most vicious Ravager factions.” 

Aleta’s leaned back against the wall next to Stakar’s desk, whip-slender and deadly as a bowblade, and at the mention of her name gives a jaunty wave in their direction. 

Kraglin can feel his face going blotchy red. He gives Yondu a wide-eyed intent look and sharp nudge of his elbow, but Yondu, to Kraglin’s utter unsurprise, does nothing but shrug his shoulders.

“Oops.” 

Kraglin gives a silent resigned sigh. He swears, he’ll never understand him. Stakar’s clearly feeling a similar kind of way because he’s leaning back in his chair, resting on one elbow as he narrows his eyes at Yondu. 

“C’mon son,” he says, softer than before, “there’s something more to it than that.” 

Yondu jitters a little from side to side, jaw working a second before he spits out, “Maybe I wouldn’t have to find Kraglin a place t’get away if you could figure out what the fuck’s going wrong in yer med bay!” 

Oh, no. No, no, no, Kraglin’s not getting into this with the flarking captain, he likes his guts where they are, thank you very much. He hurries to interrupt whatever Yondu’s thinking about saying with stumbled, “S’nothing sir, don’t mind us.” 

Yondu jerks his head around, glaring as he says, “Don’ tell me it’s nothing, ya idiot, it’s been twice now you’ve been running from the med bay all het up and shaking like a drugged up f’saki.” 

Kraglin shakes his head mutely, can’t figure out for the life of him why Yondu’s bringing this up like he thinks Stakar’s going to do something about this. Shouldn’t he, of all people, know how things like this work? 

“Obfonteri,” Stakar's sharp voice breaks in, “If there’s something going on in my med bay I should know about, you need to tell me.” 

The last thing he wants to do right now is talk, but Kraglin’s looking back and forth between Yondu and Stakar, seeing weirdly identical expressions of absolute determination and expectation, and the combined weight of it on top of all the anger and aching frustration makes something in Kraglin give.

“The doc…” he struggles to find the right words, worries his lip, “the doc, something’s not right with him, he nearly got someone killed yesterday by giving them the wrong medication, one of the other medics said is weren’t the first time it’s happened neither.” 

As he keeps talking, it gets easier, everything spilling out like a lanced infection.

“He said he’d report it as me, an’ I couldn’t stay, didn’t think no one’d believe some nub junior medic, but you c’n check the medication log, it weren’t me that did it sir.”

Stakar’s face had gone still as glass when he’d started talking, and hasn’t changed throughout his whole speech. Kraglin’s shivering a little again, but there’s relief too, that at least it’s done, it’s out of his hands. Whatever happens now, it’s out of his hands. 

That implant in Yondu’s head is starting to glow, and Kraglin looks at him in confusion, startling a little at the vicious grin spreading across his face. Stakar’s looking at him too, and he raises an eyebrow saying, “No, Yondu, I’ll take care of this.”

“But Cap’n,” Yondu protests, not taking his eyes off Kraglin’s face, “I just finished my arrow n’all, I think I need a chance t’try it out.”

Stakar doesn’t look entirely opposed to that idea, but says again firmly, “No, this is my ship, and I’ll be the one to deal with him.”

Yondu subsides with a grumble, shifting a little rebelliously. Stakar eyes him thoughtfully, then adds “In fact, it might be better if you and Obfonteri took a little flight around after all, keep you from accidentally showing up to ‘help me out’“ 

“Aw, would I do that sir?” Yondu grins at him unashamedly, and Kraglin wonders a little just what Yondu’s been up to that has him on such good terms with the flarkin’ Admiral. The reputation around the ship doesn’t peg him as a standoffish sort of captain, but still. 

“Yes you would,” Stakar says, lip twitching minutely at the corner, “Now hows about you two skedaddle off to find a ship that _doesn’t_ belong to my dear wife, hm?”


	9. fight off the lethargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakar steeples his hands grimly as the door to his office slides shut. Kraglin’s shaky confession hadn’t come as a complete blindside. There’d been rumors, nebulous whispers floating around concerning Darvis’ treatment of crew, but what he’d heard had never been enough though to confront the doctor. After all, it wasn’t an uncommon thing on a ship to have scuttlebutt spread by disgruntled underlings.  
> This though… this was unacceptable. One of Stakar’s gifts was being able to see the truth, and Kraglin had been telling the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this fic grew legs and gained a couple extra chapters whoops. All the thanks to the ever best Resri for inspiring me to fill it out instead of wrapping it up with too neat a bow, and helping me plot and plan <3 <3 <3

Stakar steeples his hands grimly as the door to his office slides shut. Kraglin’s shaky confession hadn’t come as a complete blindside. There’d been rumors, nebulous whispers floating around concerning Darvis’ treatment of crew, but what he’d heard had never been enough though to confront the doctor. After all, it wasn’t an uncommon thing on a ship to have scuttlebutt spread by disgruntled underlings. 

This though… this was unacceptable. One of Stakar’s gifts was being able to see the truth, and Kraglin had been telling the truth. 

 

Stakar knocks sharply just outside the med bay door, not moving as they whoosh open. There’s a startled Krylorian sprawled over the desk inside, and they hurriedly stumble to their feet as they offer a fluttering salute. 

“Captain, sir, what–“ they start, but Stakar interrupts with a low, “tell the good doctor to meet me in the hall.” 

There’s a small crowd gathering outside of crew who’d noticed their captain striding like black death down the corridor. Funny how people had a nose for when Shit Is About to Go Down. 

Darvis comes slinking out, blinking white-eyed at the sight of Stakar in the doorway with sparks skittering up and down his solar wings. 

“Hello,” Stakar says mildly. Faster than a snake he was snapping forward, twisting his hand into Darvis' collar and hoisting him effortlessly up against the wall. 

“So,” Stakar gives him a humorless grin, ignoring the hoots and whispers of the crew in the background, “I hear you might have overstated your credentials slightly, might be doing my Ravagers wrong.” 

Darvis doesn’t even have enough nerve left to form a coherent sentence, words are babbling and tripping over themselves in a nonsense mix of, “highly respected- no good medic- not _my_ fault,” before the rising light in Stakar’s eyes melts his words into muddled begging pleas. 

Stakar cuts him off before he can embarrass himself any further. 

“We have a Code, and by killing an unarmed helpless man in your care your care you have failed it,” every word is measured and weighted, and as he speaks the background noise fall into a hush. “I am the Admiral of the Ravager Fleet and I will not tolerate code breakers.” 

Stakar finally releases the cloak he wraps around his powers, lets his wings flare bright and his eyes shine with white fire. 

Darvis squeaks, eyes rolling back in his head and to the jeer of the crowd and Stakar’s disgust, passes out. Pulling in tight to rein himself in again, Stakar breathes slowly through his nose, then turning to his first mate. 

“Martinex, take him to the brig,” he turns back to the crew, “Tomorrow we’ll have the trial.”

 

Kraglin follows Yondu and Aleta down the corridor, still feeling entirely too lost in this whole thing. He still can’t really process that the captain had listened to him, had taken him seriously, had _believed_ him. It soothes something raw and deeply buried in him, and he knows finally, he has a captain that deserves the loyalty he demands. 

“So,” Aleta looks over her shoulder at Yondu, “Seems my husband’s taken quite a shine t’you.” 

Yondu just blinks at her, gives her an innocent grin that looks terribly out of place on his features. Aleta doesn’t seem impressed. 

“Don’t give me that face, he’ll tell me eventually, might as well just cough it up now.”

“Aw, but where’d be the fun in that?” Yondu grins, even as he keeps a respectful distance. Rolling her eyes she motions them into the hanger, jabs a finger at one of the dull black M-ships parked a few down from the one they’d tried. 

“Pretty sure that one’s unclaimed, take your…” she pauses and smirks, “ _friend_ up in that one, I’ll give you an hour before I come looking.” 

 

When they get on the ship, Yondu walks blithely towards the co-pilot seat before Kraglin reaches a hand out to stop him, says, “Didn’t you say you wanted me to teach you flyin’?” 

Yondu features are twisting all apprehensive but he grunts out an affirmation, settles himself in the pilot seat with peppery grimness. 

Draping half over the arm of the chair, Kraglin nudges himself in close so he can help guide Yondu’s hands on the controls. He can feel Yondu stiffening at the feel of him against his side, but by now he’s used to that reaction so he ignores it, taps the holoscreen to bring up the display. 

It’s strange though. As Kraglin starts ticking off the steps of the start-up sequence, he can feel Yondu getting stiffer and stiffer against him, instead of relaxing. When Kraglin reaches across him and down by his knee to point out the half-hidden emergency brake, Yondu’s almost curling forward over him, and Kraglin blinks up at him surprised. 

“You okay?” he straightens up, giving Yondu’s knee a reassuring squeeze. Maybe he had some kind of thing about machines or flying, Kraglin still didn’t really know hardly anything about Yondu’s past. 

Yondu stares at him, eyes flaring with something hot for moment, before he’s visibly making himself relax, forcing the tension out of his tight wound muscles.

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “‘M good.” 

Kraglin blinks.

“Right then,” he pokes the yoke, “go ahead, she’s ready, take her out.” 

Yondu doesn’t wait then, grabbing the yoke with a little flair of bravado, and revving her into the stars.

 

It ends up that while Yondu sure has a lot of fun, ducking and weaving them drunkenly around, Kraglin decides that maybe his forte will not be found as a pilot. After about half their time is up, Kraglin’s adrenal glands have had enough of Yondu’s antics and he makes Yondu put the ship on a gentle drifting autopilot, bribing him into relaxing with a with a cup of honeybrew.

Kraglin’s sprawled back against the side panel, warming his hands on his cup and tilted back to watch the stars spin lazily past. Yondu flopped against his side, and Kraglin can feel the heat of his sturdy leg against his own. He doesn’t know exactly what he’ll be going back to, but right now here, he thinks, there’s some kind of perfect about it all. 

“You ever gonna tell me what’s going on with you an’ the cap’n?” Kraglin asks idly. 

Yondu’s voice is filled with nothing so much as wide-eyed innocence as he says, “Cap’n an’ me have just come to an understanding, ‘a sorts.”

Kraglin rolls his eyes. “An understanding huh?” Then he blinks, and turns sharply to look at Yondu eyebrows raised. 

“Wait, an _understanding_ , huh? His wife know about it?” 

Yondu blinks, startled, then barks indignantly, “Not like _that,_ fuck’s sake.”

Kraglin continues to eye him, until Yondu gives a frustrated huff. 

“He’s the cap’n, he’s… not like that. ”

Kraglin turns back to relax again against the wall, telling himself the relief he feels is only because of how complicated that could make things for them. Definitely. That’s all it is. 

“I wouldn’t judge ya, you know,” he adds, a little remorseful at how Yondu clearly still had his hackles up. “You c’n make your own decisions, I just worry about you sometimes, you big blue idiot, coming in all the time bruised up and shit.” 

He resolutely doesn’t look at Yondu as he says it, can feel his cheeks starting to warm a little. Sometime, somehow, Yondu had gone from that weird angry ex-Kree slave that’d got him awol from the Nova Corps, to… something more. The first person in a long time that Kraglin can remember making him feel like this, like maybe there’s someone who’d notice if he wasn’t here. 

He’s staring hard enough straight ahead he doesn’t see the hand that reaches up to cup his cheek and turn his face towards Yondu’s. Kraglin gets out a confused “What–“ and then he’s being kissed. 

It’s not good at first, too much teeth and force. But it makes something in Kraglin give a hard thump against his ribs, something fizzing down his spine as he realizes he’s being _kissed,_ Yondu’s _kissing_ him.  Before Yondu can pull away, Kraglin’s shifting sideways, reaching a hand out to clumsily hook Yondu and pull him closer. Yondu moves, shifting awkwardly as he tries to find a good place without Kraglin’s pointy hipbones digging into him. 

Yondu’s warm, so warm, and his hands are rough where they’re resting gently as a breath now against Kraglin’s skin, like he’ll scare him off if he’s moves them wrong. Kraglin kneads his hands against Yondu’s sides, leaning into him, wondering dizzy how had he never known he wanted this, wishing now he'd never have to stop. 


	10. fortunate ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They just squeak into the hanger bay a minute before they’re due for an angry call about their whereabouts. When they slink out of the M-ship doors Aleta’s waiting, twirling some gorgeous pig-sticker of a knife idly in one hand. She raises an eyebrow when she sees them, then smirks  
> “Wanted to take him flying, huh,” she says. “Looks like you got up to a little more than that, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 to Resri for the perfect idea of having Yondu show off his arrow, and SnowDude for giving me a gentle prod to keep going on this. xxxx

They just squeak into the hanger bay a minute before they’re due for an angry call about their whereabouts. When they slink out of the M-ship doors Aleta is waiting, twirling some gorgeous pig-sticker of a knife idly in one hand. She raises an eyebrow when she sees them, then smirks

“Wanted to take him flying, huh,” she says. “Looks like you got up to a little more than that, eh?”

Kraglin’s toe catches on the edge of the ramp, and he flails forward before he can catch himself. How did she know..? Yondu’s snigger is met with a swift elbow to the gut, and he stumble off the edge of the ramp. Serves him right.

Aleta slips the knife back into it’s sheath, then starts to saunter towards the door. Just before she turns the corner, she calls back, “Might wanna ice that hickey before more of the crew see you, ‘less you want to put up with their ribbing.” 

Kraglin slaps a hand on his neck, promptly blushes bright blue. 

“Yondu,” he hisses.Yondu smirks sideways at him, completely unrepentant and says in a tone that’s altogether too smug, “’S on the other side.” 

 

Wherever Yondu is leading them, it’s not back to crew quarters. He weaves through the ship like he’s being pulled by a homing beacon, nearly bouncing as he walks. He’s all coils and springs when he gets like this, like if you touch him in the right point he’ll explode out in a splatter of chaos. 

Kraglin pulls a little at his collar, feels his pulse skittering giddy in his throat. 

“C’mon,” Yondu turns off abruptly through a door only marked with a messy amoeba-like splatter of paint. “Wanna show you something.” 

The room is relatively cavernous, littered with sagging sandy-colored sacks that only faintly resemble humanoids. One wall is charcoal scorched and papered with faint target rings, a smell like electricity and burnt things hanging in the air. 

Why in the world has Yondu brought them here?

“You wanted to do… weapons practice?” Kraglin tries not to let his disappointment show on his face, as Yondu bounces on his toes. 

“Got something I wanna try out,” Yondu fumbles under the back of his jacket, brandishes something long and slender in the air. It looks like a metal arrow, the same sort of red metal as that stupid stone Yondu wouldn’t give up. He doesn’t have a bow though, or any way to actually fire the thing but Yondu’s looking at Kraglin in jittery expectation.

“It’s…very nice,” Kraglin says politely. 

“Know what this is?” Yondu shifts back and forth, and the lines in his implant starts to glow electric. 

“Um,” Kraglin bites his lip, “An arrow?” 

Yondu grins, slow as a sunrise, all the metal in teeth gleaming red as the arrow in his hand starts to glow. Then his lips purse, and he whistles, low and sweet. He drops his hand, but the arrow doesn’t drop with it.

Kraglin inhales slow, hold it, watches the arrow twist in loops of eerie red light as Yondu keeps whistling. The pitch changes, warbles higher and then the arrow’s shooting forward, singing smoking holes through mannequins after mannequin until it spirals around again to hang by Yondu’s head. 

Yondu tilts his head, stares idly up at the arrow with something dark and avaricious in his eyes. His whistle cuts off and he plucks it from the air. 

Kraglin’s face is hot. The way Yondu had looked, all fierce and face lit up with red fire, it makes Kraglin wanna _do_ things to him.He licks his lips, says soft, “That’s, um,”his voice is a little hoarse, so he clears his throat and tries again. “That’s amazing.” 

His face flushes even hotter the moment he says it. ‘Course it had to come out all gushy, serve him right if Yondu laughed at him for it. 

But he doesn’t. 

“Course it is,” Yondu’s chest puffs out a little and he grins at Kraglin. “Made it m’self, outta yaka like on my head.”

Yondu taps at the side of his metal implant. So _that’s_ what that is. 

“Your species ain’t born with it like that, are they?” Kraglin shuffles a little closer, resists the urge to reach out and touch it. 

“Naw,” Yondu shrugs, looks away. “Born with a crest. Kree did this, after it got hurt an’ they had t’cut it off.” 

Fucking sadistic slaver scum. Bet if Yondu had had any kind of real medical care, that wouldn’t have happened. Kraglin works to keep the scowl off his face. Don’t want Yondu to think he’s scowling at him, after all. 

“Well, no one’s gonna mess with you, if you have a weapon like that,” Kraglin says.

Yondu looks back at him, grins again sharp and sudden. 

“Ain’t gonna let no one mess with you either.” 

And that’s… Kraglin ducks his head, shuffles a little closer to Yondu. A warm hand reaches out, grabs his cheek. Yondu’s thumb catches at the edge of his mouth, drags across his lip. It sends shudders waving down Kraglin’s spine, and he leans closer, presses into Yondu’s hand. 

It’s different, then the last time Yondu had held him like this. The danger’s gone, they’re all alone, and Yondu’s gaze burns into him.

“Mebbe,” Yondu says slow, “We oughta go back t’quarters. After all, got a big day tomorrow with the trial n’all. Gotta rest.”

Right. Rest. That’s what Kraglin wants to do right now. His mouth starts to turn down in a frown, but then Yondu says, “Should probably bunk together tonight. Y’know, fer safety. In case any friends of that doctor get any stupid ideas ‘bout taking revenge.”

Kraglin rolls his eyes, but his chest is fluttering like there’s some kind of frantic flying thing in there trying to get out. 

“C’n take care of myself y’know,” Kraglin says but before Yondu can get the wrong idea he adds quickly “Suppose it’d be best though. For safety.”


	11. no one wants me like you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial is brief. Darvis had been sloppy, no better at erasing tech than he was at fixing people. The holocam feed and the medication log had both been retrieved, in spite of his clumsy efforts to delete them. There isn’t a way to figure out exactly how many mistakes Darvis has made that resulted in deaths, but the logs full of suspiciously unexplained accident happening under his watch only cement his fate. 
> 
> The panel of bridge officers pulled hastily from both Ogords’ ships don’t take long to reach a verdict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE IT'S FINALLY DONNNNNNNEEEE FINALLY much love to Resri and Choices_We_Make for encouraging me through this and helping me figure out this last chapter. Thanks to everyone who's read and commented and followed this story through to the end! Y'all are the best <3

The trial is brief. Darvis had been sloppy, no better at erasing tech than he was at fixing people. The holocam feed and the medication log had both been retrieved, in spite of his clumsy efforts to delete them. There isn’t a way to figure out exactly how many mistakes Darvis has made that resulted in deaths, but the logs full of suspiciously unexplained accident happening under his watch only cement his fate. 

The panel of bridge officers pulled hastily from both Ogords’ ships don’t take long to reach a verdict. 

“You have knowingly and willfully let the fellow Ravagers you took an oath to protect die because of your ignorance and negligence,” Stakar stands before a hysterical Darvis, face implacable, “And so the council has sentenced you to die.”

At the pronouncement, the bridge goes quiet as a grave. 

“Your betrayal of the code has meant the death of crew, so you are condemned to the stars,” the cadence of his words turns Stakar’s voice sing-song, like he’s repeating some old proverb set in stone.“No colors will be given to light your way, and no horns to sound over your grave.”

There’s a rustle over the crowd, the crew pulling back almost as one. The crew holding his arms push Darvis to the chamber, seal him in. There’s a pause, and then the panel opens sucking him into space. 

 

As soon as Kraglin had given his testimony, he’d scuttled himself away in the back, where Yondu is a stiff-muscled shadow. The heave of bodies in front of him only block so much of his view, and every jerk and twitch of Darvis body as he slowly suffocates and boils slams itself into his brain.

Finally, Darvis doesn’t move any more. There’s a terrible, still peace, in the way his body floats. It’s dark, so dark with only the faint flicker of dim stars to silhouette his frame and Kraglin shudders. Death has always been a certainty, always ugly and always harsh. But this… 

Stakar’s words echo in his ears. Somehow, this kind of death, is worse. Whatever happens, however he’s meant to go, Kraglin _refuses_ to go out like this. 

His eyes are locked to Darvis drifting, and he edges closer to Yondu. He doesn't look to the side but he can feel Yondu’s warmth, feel the breath of a press as Yondu leans in just a fraction. 

As the ship pulls away from the body, Stakar laces his hands behind him, back to the crew and watches. Everyone gathered on the bridge starts to break away in ones and twos, then in larger clumps. There doesn’t seem to be any other formal ending to this, so Kraglin turns to Yondu and whispers hoarse, “C’n we go?” 

Yondu puts a warm hand on his shoulder, gives him a gentle shove towards the door.

“C’mon, better things t’do than sit around at stare at Cap’n.”

 

Kraglin walks down the corridor, not really seeing it. Darvis’ face still hangs in his mind, and reaches up to fiddle with the flame on his sleeve. He traces the ragged edge, strokes down it over and over. 

“You’re gonna work it loose, ya dingbat,” Yondu’s hand closes over his, and Kraglin looks up startled.

“ ‘M not,” Kraglin bats at Yondu. It works though, the distraction. Kraglin gives his head a little shake, forces Darvis out of his mind. That scum-sucking sonofabitch doesn’t deserve a second more on his mind.

“Y’know,” Yondu tone is casual – almost too casual, “I found this thing on my holopad. ’S stories, but with people doing everything on the screen instead of just telling them.”

Kraglin ducks his head to hide his grin. Looks like someone discovered holodramas. He doesn’t know how much Yondu will ever want to talk about his life under the Kree, but he’s not surprised it didn’t include exposure to the kind of frivolous, fun sort of holovids. 

“Yeah? You find one you like?” Kraglin bumps Yondu with his elbow. “Ain’t got nothing t’do now, if you wanna show me.”

Tomorrow is piecing together the hole ripped in the med bay, and probing out this new tender thing between them. Tonight… tonight is just for this. 

Yondu starts going on about the characters in what Kraglin recognizes is _definitely_ one of the cheesy sort of holodramas he normally rolls his eyes at and quietly mocks under his breath.  Except now, here, watching Yondu gesticulate wildly in indignation about some nonsensical something whats-her-face did in the last episode, he doesn’t think he’ll mind seeing this one, so much. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love!


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